Apathy
by Depopulating
Summary: [Sora x Riku] I’m just sitting here on the tire swing, staring at his body hanging next to me. [Character Death]


**.x.**

**Apathy**

**.x.**

It seems like only yesterday when we met, and you led me into the court yard, surrounded by the most pleasant, most exotic flowers I had ever seen. You seemed to love my smile, telling me that there was more to see. You decided to escort me up the hill, thriving in tall, waving green grass that tickled my ankles. It was incredibly steep, and you had to pull me up while trying to burrow your heel into the ground in order for us both to get up.

You let me sit on the tire swing dangling from the large tree on the top of the towering but thin hill, the night time sky sprinkled with stars behind us. You were unable to push me high, but falling out of it proved us both enough entertainment. I watch it as a silent movie, our mouths laughing while the faintest sound of the piano, a happy tune, plays throughout.

The slightest wind erupted. We both stared into each other's eyes, hands intertwined, and kissed. It was too innocent, nothing passionate or heated. Like children playing Romeo and Juliet, we felt that false, eager connection, but for that moment, I felt truly saved. In the moonshine, your skin was a glowing chalk. We were both young lovers.

A disastrous error on my part.

You showed me the music room, and I gasped at the sight before me: a large, spacious single room with a grand piano in the center. You grinned, pulling me over by the wrist, if I wasn't already anxious enough to see it by myself. You sat down, throwing out your imaginary coat tails playfully before seating yourself upon the bench, sitting upright in a proper position.

Almost immediately, you played the tune, vibrant and full of life, like the music playing on a carrousel. I applauded, giggling and clapping my hands in unison to the beat. I wrapped my arms around your neck loosely, leaning down until my throat rested against your shoulder and my lips by your cheek.

I couldn't help but say, "I love you."

What a mistake.

I should have realized it once you pulled out that pretty bottle of beer, gulping it down within seconds as if it was juice. But no, I smiled happily without objection, watching you pull out drink after drink, beer after beer, and punch after punch after years and years.

A life is a horrible thing to waste. Except it's not, when you pound your fists against a lover's ribs, my lungs crashing under your strength, with a strangled cry of agony erupting from my bruised throat. But I guess that bronze bottle of booze can be to blame.

I guess it's a sick form of repayment when you smash that very same bottle of beer on your head with a crash. The unbroken top of the glass rests in my tense grip. The most seductive moan escapes from your lips, and I can't help but bend down and run my fingers through your soft, delicate silver hair, sighing with a truly jealous smile. I could almost be hallucinating, pleasure radiating from my finger tips.

A life is a dreadful thing to live without liberties, especially when you can't even go to the store without accusing glances, and a scarred, wounded lover standing with the shopping cart next to you, cowering beneath you. I flinch every time you raise your hand or move closer to me without warning. I figure that it's highly obvious something's going on when you smack me across the face so forcefully that it sends me flying to the floor. I probably deserved it, not being as much as a dog as you want me to be. The store worker nearby knows better than to come closer, resorting to picking up the scattered apples instead.

I believe that playing the slowest song for me is a death sentence in itself, the melody the most foolish and happiest tune, drifting throughout the court yard like a putrid odor. It reaches the hill, the home of our tire swing and me, looking down upon the house with possessed eyes. They're blood-drenched from the sky, a war of eternal dusk. The tree in which the swing hangs with the slightest sway back and forth: dead and skinny and silhouetted black against the dark sky.

The mood changes to sadness and anguish as the tune becomes slower, pausing at times, the keys being hit calmly and with ease. It's now monotonous. I stand at your backside, your long, admirable fingers moving along down the white piano. It's like entering a silent, abandoned mansion, the odd, curious feeling becoming heavier with each pump of the pulse. It's the hush before the storm.

The song is destroyed and piercing, no longer the beautiful song of sorrow, but murder. There is no harmonic composition or sequence. It's now the thing in reality, blood splattering off the pearly keys and the mahogany wood. You're banging your head against the grand piano, harder than you've ever slammed your lover. You're in a trance, your hair flying every where and your hands peacefully laying on the keys as you continue your rabid attack on the piano. Oh, are those my hands pushing you down by the shoulders?

I presume it's your own form of personal punishment when you try to dig your own grave with the shovel you brought home, sweating and rubbing the dirt across your cheeks to make them gray and unattractively stained. Oh, those can't be _my _blistered fingers wrapped around the shovel's handle. You arouse pity from within me, your beauty covered with the filth, and I can't help but stop your endless dig, pulling you up by the arms like a rag doll.

And now I'm sitting. Sitting here on the tire swing on the dead hill looming high above the desolated house, staring at you hanging next to me. My torn arms hold the rubber sides, my slashed feet barely brushing against the broken, yellow grass in order to push myself into swaying a tad bit higher.

You hung yourself on the other side of the scorched tree, lit on fire from the blazing sky behind us. I can only see half of your body, those silver strands hiding your face from me. I can't help but smile, letting a soft, almost inaudible chuckle escape my lips. It's a dirty job, suffocating yourself in such a way.

A life is a horrible thing to use without happiness, but I'm close.

I just can't seem to clean your blood off my sheets.

**.x.**

**And we'll all dance alone  
To the tune of your death.  
We'll love again,  
We'll laugh again,  
And it's better off this way...**

**.x.**

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:** Easy explanation: Sora and Riku fall in love. Riku becomes hard alcoholic. Riku abuses Sora. Sora kills Riku, but makes it seem like Riku's killing himself because Sora's kind of… out of it. I like making Sora insane. It makes me smile.

Heh. Kind of twisted. I suck. Ending lyrics from My Chemical Romance's "I Never Told You What I Do for a Living." That song kicks ass.

**For Ame. **


End file.
